


Pieces of Tartarus

by vicariously kingly (pelted)



Series: In Homage to Theoxenia [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff and Smut and Angst and Humor, Heed Author's Notes, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other, Rape Fantasy, Shapeshifting / Sexswap, Soul Bond, every chapter varies wildly in rating, just a whole lotta love, no but seriously heed author's notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27212737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelted/pseuds/vicariously%20kingly
Summary: Collection of short stories related to weary time travelers settling in to their newest world.(All set in the Theoxenia universe. Mostly PWP, but with lots of "introspection" flavoring.)
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch, Urianger Augurelt/Thancred Waters
Series: In Homage to Theoxenia [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859977
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	1. Rush - Thancred/Urianger [NSFW]

**Author's Note:**

> These stories are all connected to or set within the Theoxenia universe! I'll be writing as if you've read that series and are just looking for some extra ficlets to snack on. Not sure how many of these there will be, but hope they're enjoyable! Also, please heed author's note warnings because the pwps get a little intense.
> 
> ...... so I say, but this one is pure fluffy Thancred/Urianger, so,, enjoy!
> 
> no warnings apply. set after Ch. 11 of Anabasis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **characters:** Thancred/Urianger  
>  **prompt:** welcome back
> 
>  **warnings:** explicit content, whole lotta fluff

“T’would serve us well indeed to discuss Ryne’s situation.”

“At the present moment, t’would serve us well _indeed_ to absolutely not. More pressing a topic is, ah-- would you lift your leg for me, darling? Yes, like that. Perfect.”

The Rising Stones had two storage closets. One contained various cooking ingredients and instruments, while the other acted as general storage of things (mostly weapon-related) that Tataru swore would be useful one day but, thus far, really hadn’t been. As fucking next to their future meal wasn’t extremely appetizing, Thancred and Urianger had ducked into the latter upon their group’s return from the fogfens. They’d begged off on the need to fetch a particular map to aid in marking the location of the warding’s necessary components, which was true. They’d gotten the map. It rested nicely atop a smallish crate next to the storage closet’s closed door, waiting patiently for them to finish before it’d be delivered.

Thancred called it a _welcome back gift in a pinch_ , which was neither entirely inaccurate nor the entire story. He also promised a more proper welcome-back gift in the near future, but at that very moment-- he wanted Urianger close, wanted him under him, wanted him _right then._

From the tales told in the fogfens of Olimbos, he could have not had Urianger back at all.

\-- To be fair, Urianger didn’t really protest. In fact, his exact words were, _A detour? Let us take it._

For a hasty coupling, it went as it should-- til Urianger got it in his head that he wanted to talk about _Ryne._

The slight change in position distracted him for a half-breath. Keeping one foot on the floor for balance, he lifted his other leg as directed, curling it at Thancred’s hip. Catching it, Thancred hiked it higher, then canted his own hips at a sharper angle so that he might thrust deeper into Urianger’s heat. As he did, Urianger knocked his head back against the wall with a low, deep groan. Eyes lidding heavily, his mouth parted, his breath panting. Around his narrow shoulders draped Thancred’s coat, so as to shield him from the wall’s dust and chill, while his robe had been hurriedly hitched up to his waist. His long hair became mussed at every jostling movement, of which they resolved to be many. Even in the closet’s low lighting -- the only beam shined in from the crack under the door -- with Thancred snug between his legs, his shaft full upon his stomach and yet wet from the attention Thancred paid it with tongue and mouth while he worked Urianger open, he looked a _sight._

But Urianger apparently had a second sense for when Thancred began to lose himself in the solid presence under his hands and the delightfully warm push-pull of his body around Thancred’s. Just as his guard was thus lowered, Urianger straightened himself as much as he could, draped his arms over Thancred’s shoulders, and said:

“Thancred, prithee attend to thy senses enough to realize that she--”

“Urianger,” Thancred interrupted, dropping his forehead to rest in the inviting juncture of neck and shoulder and the cool, thick cloth of his jacket’s wide collar, “I will _not_ discuss Ryne as we are. After, perhaps.”

His infuriatingly focused partner refused to be deterred from getting some manner of important conversation done while they were mid-coitus. Rather than take it as an insult to his own performance, Thancred took it to mean that Urianger really did need to get laid more. There was a rhythm to these things! Everyone in the know _knew_ that business discussions were best suited for the hazy afterglow.

Yet there went Urianger, as he said, “The Ascians, then. We must needs discuss them.”

“Do you _want_ me to stop?” Thancred asked, a little more petulant than he liked to be. “Is that what this is about?”

“Nay, 'tis not.”

“Then, I beg of you, let us shelve these subjects ‘til we have finished.”

Urianger laughed breathlessly, and again tilted his head back so that it rested against the wall. To sate his own disgruntlement and also because Urianger really shouldn’t have stretched his absurdly beautiful neck out like that if he didn’t want it touched, Thancred set his mouth to the long line of muscle along its side. As he kissed up its length, then tugged lightly at the edge of his ear with his teeth, Urianger hummed deep in the back of his throat, his eyes slipping closed.

Blessed silence. Thancred slowed his pace, at last losing the desperate edge that had characterized him pulling Urianger into the storage closet to begin with. Desiring then to drag out every thrust, to slide slow and careful from tip to hilt, Thancred tightened his hold around the other’s leg and wrapped his other hand around Urianger’s prick.

Everything about Urianger was slim, long and lithe, to include his length. He enjoyed a firm grip around the shaft and a thumb at the base of his crown, to stroke and rub and dip occasionally up and over the head. 

As Thancred made good on his preferences, Urianger gave him another shaky moan. By the third slow, pointed stroke, his arms tensed and braced upon Thancred’s shoulders and he hitched his other leg up around his waist. Heel pressed to the small of his back, his breathing turned hitched and wanting, he drew Thancred in close.

While holding his weight posed no real problem, the position was such that Thancred soon had to let go of his cock to steady his other leg. A sigh gusted along the top of his head as he did, Urianger curling more fully over him as he pressed himself flush to his chest and buried his nose into the other’s clavicle. With the robe’s silky texture tickling his neck and Urianger’s hands tangling in his hair, Thancred held him tight and, feeling the tension in him begin to build anew, once more picked up his pace. 

For a moment, the only noise between them was the muffled slap of skin and their own rapid breath. Thancred lost himself in the mindless movement, happy to drift along the familiar feel and smell of Urianger slowly coming undone around him.

The thing was, for all his talk, the ease of their joining gave his mind the space to wander into thoughts and anxieties that the world beyond a closed door rarely did.

Such as the realization that it would have been so easy for them to not have this chance, for those who left aboard the ship to have been lost forevermore. If the ship had malfunctioned in its flightpath and never reached a destination in a place too far for teleportation to work-- if Emet-Selch had decided that they weren’t actually worth the effort, if he had merely been killing time til he could again turn his back on them, as Thancred had long worried-- if the Amaurotines had been but an onze more like their Ascian parallels and believed the only good Unsundered was a dead Unsundered--

There had been so many ways for them to not make it back.

Gods, he was glad Urianger had returned.

“You truly stumbled _again_ upon Elidibus, without me,” he gasped, vaguely upset about that, and snapped his hips to be flush with the other’s in _reminder_. Yes, Urianger was definitely better with the immortals, but that immortal in particular had an awful habit of capturing people like Urianger’s imagination and twisting it for the worst. Thancred didn’t care how different the Amaurotines supposedly were in this time or that Urianger hadn’t been alone, as the very idea of him dealing with Elidibus in a personal manner filled him with discomfort--

“We shan’t discuss it at present,” Urianger teasingly chided, and knocked his heel against Thancred’s backside to remind him of their present distraction.

Groan turning into a good-natured growl, Thancred nipped at his collarbone. He was about to relocate them both to the floor, so that he might turn Urianger onto his hands and knees and give him a real moment to stew on, when a very familiar voice drifted down the hall.

“...ancred? Urianger? Are you back here?”

Thancred froze, thoughts scattering at Y’shtola’s call. Urianger struggled to quiet his breathing, at last biting his lip to muffle himself.

Y’shtola knew well enough what the two of them got up to -- even ignoring how (in hindsight!) tense he’d turned about Urianger’s abrupt departure (combined with Ryne’s increasingly odd behavior), Thancred referenced Urianger staying overnight plenty and complained about him using up his personal inkwells even moreso, while he strongly suspected Urianger of providing her even more lewd details over their near-weekly _tea and tarot sessions_ \-- but this was one hell of a compromising position. Especially when everyone else was getting ready to crack open a warding spell of a lifetime.

The sound of footsteps put Y’shtola a few strides from the closet door. 

She said, “I could have sworn they went this way…” in such an absent-minded tone, Thancred couldn’t help but wonder if she actually knew perfectly well where and what they were up to. Y’shtola was not typically the type to speak to herself without reason.

In stillness, Urianger’s weight became a little more consequential. Arms lightly shaking, Thancred tried unsuccessfully to readjust his grip to a more comfortable position on Urianger’s legs. Urianger, perhaps sensing his strain, reached out to their side to brace himself against a dusty crate.

\-- Bad choice. The crate must have been forgotten for longer than Tataru had been alive, as its old wooden top creaked for but a moment before its entire side gave way with a crash.

Rusted bucklers and loose bolts scattered noisily across the stone floor, while Thancred and Urianger themselves toppled into the more mealworm-than-wood crate. Thancred loosed a curse as they went, already despairing at the mood-killing move and its inevitable clean up-- and then at the _discovery_ , as Y’shtola would have to be far less astute to not realize what was going on behind their closed door.

Urianger landed half-on him with a sharp noise of surprise. Lucky for him, the side not on Thancred had Thancred’s thick jacket. _Lucky_ because, gods, rotten wood felt _disgusting_ on sweaty skin.

The silence to follow rang louder than the crash.

Distant sounds of curiosity from the rest of the Rising Stones filtered in.

“Fuck,” Thancred cursed again, burying his face into Urianger’s robed front for one blessed moment. This was the calm before the storm, and he needed all of it to adequately collect his wits and redirect his blood back to the north half of his body. While he did, he quickly reflected that it had been quite a long time since he’d been hasty enough in jumping someone’s bones as to get _caught_. Though such times were occasionally fun and funny, they were more often highly embarrassing for at least one party, and led to more than a few ruffled feathers. At least Urianger was unlikely to slap him before giving him the boot out the door.

Just as the silence reached what Thancred knew to be its end, as those in the Rising Stone’s lobby began to troop over to see what the commotion was, Y’shtola loudly proclaimed, “Dear me! It appears this crate was fuller than I had expected. That was very clumsy of me.”

Y’shtola.

That beautiful, beautiful _saint._

Urianger murmured into Thancred’s hair a quiet, disbelieving, “... Truly?”

Thancred shushed him.

“No, no! No need, thank you. I’ve got it handled.” She stood right outside the door, her shadow cutting narrow stripes into their little strip of light. “I’ll be back over in a moment. I’ve just a few new things to pick up.”

Whoever she spoke to -- Tataru, maybe; hopefully not, as she also had quite the nose for figuring out what was really going on within her building -- laughed at that, then headed off.

Silence, blessed silence, again descended around them.

“I want to kiss her,” Thancred informed Urianger very seriously, looking up from where he’d hid his face.

He couldn’t tell super well in the shadows, but he thought Urianger looked like he agreed.

“You can do that after you’ve cleaned up whatever you broke,” Y’shtola whispered through the door, making Thancred and Urianger both start, “and also after you’ve thrown it away. Long have I advocated to rid ourselves of that useless clutter. Imagine how happy I am to hear that you two have volunteered to aid me in making that dream become a reality.” 

Without missing a beat, Thancred joked back, unable to resist a verbal eyebrow-waggling, “Don’t tell Tataru -- she’s determined to see our every nook and cranny filled.”

Urianger huffed, slightly incredulous at the whole exchange. Thancred took that as further evidence that he needed to get laid more often. He took that solemn duty upon himself.

“So she is,” Y’shtola replied evenly, “but then where would our resident tomcats dally their days away? She must think of those poor beasts’ sorry state.”

“She never thinks of those poor beasts’ sorry state,” Thancred agreed. “Considering our lot, skulking about as we must around this crowded place, we’re due great sympathy.”

“My sympathy will run thin if I make a greater fool of myself by dallying with you,” Y’shtola cautioned, though there was a lightness in her voice that Thancred secretly treasured, “so I trust you both will finish up shortly, and meet us in Dawn’s Respite as planned?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Good. -- Urianger? Are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I’m quite well,” Urianger said, a little more strained than his usual. He shifted awkwardly atop their mess, then bit his lip again as his heat clenched around Thancred’s length. In the jumble, he’d probably forgotten he was still speared.

Fingers digging into his hips to steady him, Thancred hid his pleased grin -- it was, some would say, decidedly naughty -- into his neck.

In any case, Y’shtola accepted it. “Glad to hear it. Don’t let Thancred convince you by his charm and swagger that he knows what he’s doing. Wisdom does not always follow experience; it also takes thought and self-reflection, or at least the mere ability for either.”

“You wound me!” Thancred accused, absolutely endeared that Y’shtola thought he had _charm._ He asked Urianger, words somewhat muffled as he mouthed along the soft underside of the other’s jaw, heedless of the buckler jabbing into his back so long as he had Urianger’s attention on him, “-- Do you also think I have charm and swagger?” 

Looking thoroughly bemused, Urianger made a strangled noise that was half-laugh and half-disagreement. Thancred fell a little in love with that, too.

(His emotions after a near-disaster were often best described as _giddy_ , and this was no exception.)

Y’shtola bid a quiet good-bye, then made good on giving them the space and time to finish up. 

“I really do want to kiss her,” Thancred told Urianger. “Would that be a problem? I’d be happy if you were there, too.”

“Hadn’t her words reached thine ears?” Urianger asked him, pushing away the stray bucklers before nudging him to roll onto his back so that he might sit astride him. Thancred was pleased to see that despite his clear embarrassment at being found out and the musty smell of old wood around them (maybe he _did_ have some experience in similar, or at least similarly dirty, situations -- Moenbryda hadn’t seemed like the type to be picky), his interest had not flagged in the least. “ _After_ we’ve finished here, we may seek her opinion on the matter. ‘Til then, thou art solely mine.”

Well. He certainly wouldn’t argue with that.


	2. Too Late - Alisaie + Emet-Selch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **characters:** Alisaie + Emet-Selch  
>  **prompt:** sentience
> 
> no warnings apply

Emet-Selch found her at the edge of a grave.

“Two universes,” she said, not turning around on his slow approach, “and I’m still too late.”

“Am I supposed to know what you speak of?” he asked, stopping far enough away that she could not possibly hope to kick him in the shin before he teleported to safety. “I merely wished to know whether you cared to join your brother for dinner. Before you fear for your health, G’raha is acting as the chief cook.”

Terse, “I’ll pass, thank you.”

Answer thus received, she expected him to leave. The silence after her reply stretched long enough that he certainly had the time too.

Except not only did he stay, but he asked, “As I imagine he and the rest already know, dare I ask who you’re standing beside?”

That was a curious way to put a grave-side visit. 

With a humorless huff, she said, “Ga Bu. They told me he passed months ago… Likely from malnourishment, as making him take in anything was _apparently_ a chore and a half.”

“...”

“He’d been enthralled by Titan. Well… To be blunt, through his despair and desperation, he summoned him. And after the primal’s defeat, his mind fell along with Titan.”

“The primal’s defeat by your hands?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Cahsi’s, technically. But I’d consider that close enough to accept responsibility as well.”

“Hm.”

Keeping her eyes on the cold grave and its plain, single-stone marker, she waited. 

Nothing more was forthcoming. But still, neither did he leave.

She opened her mouth to ask if he had anything else or if he just liked playing the part of an annoying shadow. What she ended up asking was, “Well? Was I right in my assessment?”

“That his mind fell with the God he had given his everything to summon?” She was privately glad he didn’t pretend at ignorance. “Undoubtedly.”

“The least we could have done was ensure whatever remained lived a comfortable life…”

“Without the mind, ‘life’ is hardly what I’d call left behind.” 

“You had hardly called any of us ‘alive,’” she reminded him. “Or am I being overly optimistic, and that’s still true?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that in full.”

She finally turned to face him. Flinty, feeling a bit exposed and not liking it, she said, “You might be right. That reply says more than enough.”

“Why would you feed and clothe a mindless husk save for sentimentality?”

“There had been a chance he might--”

“There hadn’t been, and you knew it.”

“Did I?” She challenged. “Just as you knew _we_ weren’t alive?”

He pressed his mouth into a thin, unhappy line, his eyes narrowing.

Then his sense caught up with his expression. Face smoothing into vague amusement, he sighed and shook his head, tossing his hands up. 

“A summoner pours their mind, heart and soul into bringing forth their Creation. The less control they have over the result, the more it will feed upon their aether. For those summoning primals out of desperation, control is the last thing on their mind. Such summoners cannot hope to recover from what the primal takes.”

“... But rarely do we truly _destroy_ aether. More often, it’s transformed.”

“The specks which made up ‘Ga Bu’ would be nigh impossible for your ilk to locate.” He clicked his tongue, tsking. “Even I would struggle with such a task. The best chance would have been immediately after felling the primal.”

“...”

She didn’t want it to be, but it sounded true enough.

“Were it easier,” he continued, tone lightening such that her attention was immediately drawn, “we would have fished our people from Lord Zodiark as soon as He had finished stabilizing our world.”

That also was undoubtedly true.

Still. “It feels disrespectful to simply let those who are enthralled… _die._ ”

“Sometimes, it’s a mercy. But other times, sentimentality will still your hand.” “And that impulse stands as testament to your better qualities. It would simply do you well not to confuse one for the other.”

She sighed. “I suppose.” 

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

He regarded her in silence for a moment more. She turned back to the grave while he did, not wanting to contend further with his abrasive opinions. Even if they were technically facts, not opinions…

“... There will be a meal waiting for you whenever you’ve finished,” he said, and at last began his slow, shuffling departure.

A few words crowded at the tip of her tongue -- that they didn’t need to save anything, that she’d be along soon, that she couldn’t believe they were happy to sit around a campfire and _cook_ when there were still so many out there like Ga Bu, their primals just waiting to devour their essences -- but somehow, she swallowed them down. It wasn’t always the worst thing to know when to mourn and when to quit.


	3. Heat - G'raha Tia/Emet-Selch [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **characters** : G'raha/Emet-Selch  
>  **prompt:** miqo'te heat for the first time in a long time ;D
> 
>  **warning** : sexswapping (related to physical shapeshifting, gender/pronouns remain the same) and heatfic usuals (horniness set to max, aggression/possessiveness, references to breeding). it's all full consensual.

It took G’raha three days to understand what his body was doing.

The first day saw a faint itching under his skin. Uncomfortable, but ignorable.

On the second day, the itching turned to persistent _warmth._ No matter what he did, he felt warm-- nay, hot. Sweat pooled in the small of his back, his whole body flushing with heat in on-off waves such that he was positive he’d caught an illness and was running a fever. He went to Urianger to see if that were true, and if he needed to seek medical aid.

Urianger did his inspections while standing far too close and wearing a strange musk that _just_ escaped identification. Both aspects irritated G’raha’s burning-hot skin and foggy, fever-soaked mind. However, as those were two things G’raha knew better than to mention (especially as the latter made him want to shove his nose into Urianger’s neck and take a whiff to _figure it out_ , which was patently weird), he sat on his hands and kept his eyes forward. 

As far as he could tell, Urianger tried to pay him a similar respect and make the inspection quick. Unfortunately, he _failed,_ as the examination seemed to last _forever_. Consequently, Urianger’s every poke and prod, no matter how professional G’raha knew them to be, fanned his annoyance.

After _ages and ages_ , Urianger finished and gave his diagnosis. He told him that he had no illness the Astrologian could detect, but that didn’t rule out a new or difficult to detect disease. Considering his unusual bloodline and ongoing connection to the Tower, a new disease was very possible. These were overall unsatisfying answers after an incredibly uncomfortable inspection. Thus he’d thanked Urianger none-too-kindly, inadvertently disparaging the Astrologian’s abilities-- then realized he’d been rude, hesitated to apologize, grew frustrated with himself and somehow also at Urianger, and thereafter fled before his poor mood made him even worse company.

The hot flashes had turned him irritable and prickly. He retired to the Tower that night, intent on curling up in his bed and riding out whatever strange fever plagued him with sleep. 

On the third day, he woke in just his sleep pants to sweat-drenched sheets, a racing heart, and the burning need to find someone or something warm and share the fire under his skin, preferably through---

Smacking his pillow over his face, he realized exactly what ‘new’ disease he’d woken into, and whined.

_Heat._

For the first time in over a century, he was _in heat._

His whine turned into a sharp, short snarl. Though he longed to jump into an ice bath, he wrapped himself tighter in his blankets, flipped to his stomach, and pressed himself flat to the bed.

Heat!

He was in heat!

He hadn’t dealt with a heat in ages! It was terrible! Had it always been this awful? How had he managed it before? Vague memories of a miserable week wherein he sequestered himself away in a room with a fluffy bed, ever-full bathtub, and icebox stocked with a mountain of food and water came to mind. Convenient and sudden _vacations_ which every professor allowed without question. At the Studium, there had been a tea laced with natural suppressants to ease one’s worst impulses. It hadn’t really worked, but it’d been better than nothing. The Tower’s influence had overwhelmed his natural body such that he’d foregone heats altogether on the First. It had been a loss he hadn’t mourned. 

Apparently his newfound independence from the Tower did, actually, come with some drawbacks. Amazing.

Gods, he needed… a bath. A nice, cold bath. Or a friend. He could tell Urianger not to worry, that this was a disease _well_ understood. He could press his nose to that long neck and find out what the _smell_ was. He could--

 _Urianger?!_ Really?

He had a-- partner. He had Hades. Where was Hades?

Hades couldn’t see him like this. G'raha would never live it down. 

So. Not Hades. _Cahsi wouldn’t mind--_

\-- No! No, no, no. Cahsi couldn’t know. 

Focus on getting the energy to go for a bath. That was too much. Focus instead on taking the edge off his fever. He slipped a hand between his body and the bed, down and down until he found himself, and, gods, he was _sensitive_. Soft, but not for long. It almost hurt to touch.

He needed to get out of his clothes. 

He wanted that bath.

Even as he reminded himself _one thing at a time!_ , so too did his thoughts scatter across a thousand different threads, each more irrelevant and unhelpful than the last.

He wanted-- something under him. Something he could hold.

Fortunate that Hades kept so many pillows at hand in the bed. Fortunate that the bed smelled of him, of them. Fortunate that one pillow was large enough to shove comfortably between his legs, to pin it down and grind and-- no, no, gods, _yes._

Only then did he realize he’d bitten his lower lip to keep his quiet, as he let it go to draw in a soft gasp. Having something beneath him was nice. The friction was nicer. He shrugged the blankets off him, uncomfortably overheated with his new movements plus their weight.

He needed to be closer. His pants were far too restrictive. 

Anyway, without anyone else nearby, why did he need to keep quiet? Even if someone was nearby. They should know. 

_Know what?_ That he’d resorted to rutting against a pillow? _Really, now!_

Though he’d surely lose his ability to feel shame in short order, enough lingered to brew embarrassment deep in his gut. He felt like a teenager who had no sense of how to manage himself.

Gods, he despised heat. Always had. Always would.

The pillow wasn’t enough. Not with his trousers in the way. Good thing they were light sleepwear, that he might shuck them off and spare little time away from his pillow, which proved _even better_ without a cloth barrier. While he still felt overheated all over, the _burning_ focused between his legs. There, he hardened, though the term was nonsensical to the actual feeling, as he felt nothing more than horribly sensitive and needy.

Rutting took off the edge. Barely. 

Frustration curled low in his belly. The pillow was fine, but it wasn’t what he wanted. It was rough. The friction wasn’t enough. It smelled like his mate. Where was his mate? While he foggily recalled not wanting him to see, he no longer understood why he’d made such a stupid, short-sighted decision.

Biting into the pillow’s edge, he growled to himself, dissatisfied and unfulfilled and pathetically wanting it to be _more._

Trapped as he was in his own pathetic misery, he barely noticed the prickle on the back of his right hand that was the Tower letting him know someone had entered his territory. Only once the door creaked open and a voice reached him did he realize how far in that someone had gotten.

“My, my. What have we here?”

Not just anyone.

Hades.

_Hades!_

Embarrassment warred with abject relief. Whatever was left of his pride in his heated state took a rough hold of his mind, gave him a mental shake, and forced him to stop rutting like an animal. He let go of the pillow (ah, shame; so he could still feel that) as his attention snapped to the tall figure in the doorway. A vague part of him knew he must have looked a sweaty, disorganized mess, especially as he found it difficult to focus beyond the confines of his bed.

“Hades,” he said, dry, water-parched voice stable by willpower alone. Of course, he lost that willpower in the very next sentence, as he had to focus it toward another end. “You-- shouldn’t be here?”

As that was what he’d thought before his heat had really taken hold, he thought it best to say aloud. 

Of course, Hades had to make it complicated by _slowly_ (so slowly!) moving closer to the bed and asking, infuriatingly airy, “Ah? And why is that? It appears you’re in the midst of quite the predicament.”

“ _Heat_ ,” he agreed unhappily, more harsh breath than word. He quivered where he held himself painfully, rigidly still. As far as his body was concerned, he’d spent too long talking. His partner was right there. The bed’s old smells would be nothing compared to the fresh scent found on the real, warm thing. He did his best to ignore those intrusive thoughts. He wasn’t very successful. “What… are you here for?”

“As it would happen,” was the reply, “I came here searching for a particular tome. I shan’t take up your _personal time;_ I’ll fetch it and be on my way.”

“What? No!” He couldn’t _leave!_

He bit his cheek hard enough to feel the shock of pain to keep that sad protest inside of him. While he managed to smother the words, the sentiment escaped as a low, rumbling growl.

“My, what a fearsome sound. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make a noise like that before.”

Hades had stopped by the bed’s edge. Well within reach.

G’raha did not reach.

But he wanted to. He needed to. Far better than a pillow would be his partner. 

And he’d treat Hades right. He’d done so before. Now he’d be even _better._ Hades had to know that. 

He had to know what a heat was like. He’d spent a life or two as a miqo’te, hadn’t he?

More time must have passed than he thought, as Hades spoke again.

“Even in the midst of a rut, I see you manage to think the situation to death,” Hades murmured. “Come now, dear Exarch, cease your posturing. I spoke in jest. I have no intention of departing and leaving you in such a sorry state. That is, if you would like a hand?”

G’raha narrowed his eyes at him. Behind him, his tail lashed. 

The fire in him burned brighter. He wanted to take Hades and let him know that no other hand would do. He wanted to quit this pointless talking. He wanted to shove him down and get a leg over him and show him what he could do in his _sorry state_.

Base impulses, all. 

Incredibly satisfying impulses.

When he opened his mouth, he took a moment to fight back the rumble in his throat. While his growl died down, he found he could not stop panting. 

Breathy though he was, he forced himself to say, “Your ego knows no bounds, Hades,” because honestly, he found him like this and had the gall to ask?! Gods!

Hades cracked a small smile. 

“Let me slip into something more fitting for the occasion, then.”

G’raha wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it sounded like he’d be joined. Soon. Very soon. Likely, Hades just needed to prepare himself. Yes. That was reasonable.

Soon, he’d be ready. Soon.

He’d already waited so _long._ This was day three. Why had he waited until day three to find his partner? 

G’raha kept a half-lidded gaze on Hades, every inch of him attuned to the other’s movements. Though a very, very distant part of him roiled with shame at being caught in such a compromising position, the majority of him found a target finally deserving of focus. Below him, the bed creaked. Then and only then, he noticed that he’d unconsciously resumed rocking his hips. Less now to chase relief and more to _show_ , to entice, he was fit, he was capable, he was-- he’d treat Hades right. He would.

Hades looked faintly amused. That prickled G’raha’s pride, but he wouldn’t let it daunt him.

Ozone gathered, tickling his throat and making him sneeze. Magic. A hand raised, fingers snapped. Aether swirled around Hades, covering his form. 

When it dissipated, it left a much smaller figure in its place.

G’raha’s hips stuttered and stopped their rocking. He blinked and gawked, confusion great enough to pierce his heat-haze.

The smell of ozone cleared. A female miqo’te stood where Hades had been, her skin a pale, ashy purple. Her long, black tail and ears were capped in white, and her longer canines gleamed at her lips when they curled up. She wore a plain, short grey robe which left little to the imagination, hanging off her sharp shoulders and clinging to her chest as it did.

She looked somewhat older than him. Healthy. Capable. A Keeper in her prime. She smelled…

His nose wrinkled. Even in his state, his body wanted nothing to do with her. She smelled-- young. Undeveloped. Barely weaned from her mother. 

“That isn’t the reaction I’d been expecting,” she said, in a slow drawl unmistakeable no matter the body, which begged the question of what in the _hells_ Hades was playing at? He’d been fine as he was. G’raha knew and enjoyed his Garlean form very well. It was beyond passable. Why must they delay with this shapeshifting nonsense? 

Hades hummed. He said, “Very well. Let me adjust… _this._ ”

Though Hades made no physical movements, the shift was immediate. 

Its force hit G’raha like an asteroid from the heavens.

The scent of another miqo’te’s heat flooded the room. Thick as it was, G’raha near gagged on it. He gasped, body bowing in half and tail curling high with interest.

He heard, “ _There_ we go,” in a tone far too pleased with itself. “Hormones have always been a tricky business.”

Had it been? How fun for him.

“ _Hades,_ ” he hissed. _Demanded._

Gods.

He buried his face and front into his pillow, clinging to it as though it were a lifeline. In a way, it was. The fabric muffled the heady cloud of two heats synced. The bedroom was too small, too contained. They were so close.

And compatible. They were so compatible. 

No smell of distress. Only willingness.

Though the pillow muffled the smell, it did little to abate the spike of _intent_ in his belly. 

Hades knew what he was getting into. He had to. He had to!

Why was G’raha denying himself? 

“Too much?” he heard. The bed dipped as Hades sat. “No, that can’t be it. Dear Raha, were you really planning on fighting this alone?”

A hand drifted, light, down his bare, shivering, sweat-and-salt drenched side.

His shivers worsened. He wanted-- he wanted---

He turned his face to the side so he could speak, keeping his eyes squeezed close, “I won’t stop-- I can’t-”

“That’s just fine,” Hades replied, his amusement warm and lilting in its higher pitched voice. “I don’t imagine I speak only for myself in saying that it has been a while since we’ve experienced this particular urge.”

The hand again stroked, gentle as a breeze, down his side. 

Odd of Hades not to comment on the sweat. He had always been quick to complain about bodily fluids.

The hand once more returned to the top of his back.

He turned himself to the side, snagging its wrist tight. Hades froze, his fingers splayed and expression curious. His cheeks were flushed a deeper grey-purple than the rest of him, his pupils blown wide.

G’raha sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. The comfortingly familiar scent of old-Hades lingered below him, while the new-Hades stank of salty-ready heat. Both belonged to his ridiculous and terrible partner. Both were, in their own way, very right.

Hades probably expected words. Then again, he implied he knew what to expect, so maybe not. 

Whatever he expected, what he got was G’raha surging upright to kiss him. 

G’raha swallowed Hades’ surprised noise, using the opportunity to lick past his lips and into his mouth. Sloppy. Forceful. But he’d waited and waited, and if Hades had wanted to depart, surely he would have before he _slipped on_ a body like _this._ By the amused rumble in Hades’ throat and how he kissed back, he meant to be where he was.

A warm haze covered what followed.

True to his first desire upon his mate’s arrival, he let go of the wrist in his hand and pushed Hades onto his back. Hades fell with a light _oomph_. G’raha followed him down, unwilling to break the kiss. His hands roved over a chest much softer than he’d grown used to, pulling and dragging at the thin gown’s fabric. Soon the material rucked up to the other’s hips, exposing nothing underneath. G’raha snuck a hand under it to feel up a flat stomach to a bony ribcage. Under him, Hades shifted restlessly, a leg raising to put a heel into the small of his back.

Which was about when G’raha realized he was, for once, the larger party. Not by much - an ilm at most - but it satisfied a deep, unknown part of him. Now he could settle his heat to Hades’, comfortably situated between open legs; now he could, and did, find the peak of a breast and pinch it while rocking toward that heat. Slick covered the underside of his cock, a mix of his own excitement and Hades’.

Head tilting back, Hades hummed with encouragement, his heel digging into G’raha’s spine. G’raha turned his attention to the other’s jaw and neck, nipping and sucking as he went.

Fire returned to burning just under his skin.

Other heel joining the first to urge G’raha closer, Hades arched his back and pressed himself closer. Ever closer. Not close enough. Removing his hands from beneath the other’s gown, one going to support himself next to Hades’ head, G’raha reached lower and between them, to take himself in hand and line himself with the other’s warm, wet opening.

Only for Hades to abruptly drop his heels from G’raha’s back and scoot up and away, with a breathy _laugh._

“Not yet,” he was told. “Not yet, Raha.”

Though he instinctively slowed himself, it took his hindbrain a long time to process what he was being told.

When he did, he took a gamble and grabbed Hades’ hips, dragging him back to his lap with a low growl.

The gamble paid off. For his efforts, he received another breathy chuckle, the edge of a sharp canine glinting. Golden eyes glittered at him from a striped face, the wrinkles at the corner of his lips betraying his intent. He wanted a fight; he wanted a tussle; _he wanted G’raha to prove himself,_ prove this was a worthy pairing and that they both wanted it. Hades never could do anything without making a scene of it.

So be it! G’raha was always ready for a challenge, however inevitable the conclusion was.

With another growl (belied by the smirk he felt spread across his face), G’raha made to turn Hades onto his front. Hades batted away his attempts, his legs raising to clamp along G’raha’s sides. Another flash of fang; anotherhalf mocking smug, all admonishing laugh. 

_Is this the best you can do?_ it asked. _Come on! Fight for me._

The laugh turned into an arrogant smirk when G’raha reached for his wrists with the intent to pin him. At that, Hades twisted about in a move that his larger Garlean form would never have managed-- he planted a foot solidly on G’raha’s chest, then gave him a strong kick to the chest. 

As he fell back, G’raha nabbed Hades’ ankle and, steadying himself by it, again pulled him along.

He slid forward with a whuff of amusement, curling up and reaching forward to again shove him away (and, at this point, off the bed). 

He still wasn’t taking him seriously—! 

The near-laugh finally broke into a growl when G’raha darted forward and caught both of Hades’ wrists in a bruising grasp, then stretched himself along Hades’ front to pin them above his head. Hades bucked, his legs spread open and heels digging into the bed for leverage. 

Unfortunately for him, without supplementing his body with the extraordinary, the conclusion to their test of strength was foregone. Here laid a sorcerer who decided not to use magic, struggling hand-to-hand with an adventurer who regularly took up a sword and shield. In that, they were no match.

G’raha shifted both thin wrists easily to one hand. With the other, he hooked his arm under Hades’ knee and forced it up.

Hades snarled then, teeth bared in full. His body contorted, his chest heaving for breath as he jerked uselessly at his wrists’ hold. His free leg scrambled for purchase, his knee knocking into G’raha’s side. Without leverage, it might as well have been a nice pat on the hip.

Letting go of the wrists to snag that knee as well, he succeeded in catching and pinning it up to Hades’ chest. Both legs fell over G’raha’s shoulders, canting his hips up to align _perfectly._ All he needed to do was press forward.

For the ritual of it, he restrained himself. Hades used the opportunity of having his hands again free to shove at G’raha’s head and shoulders, his ears pinned and tail lashing with faux displeasure. As soon as G’raha had those legs where he wanted, he again caught Hades' hands and pinned them up. 

Predictably, _as was necessary_ , Hades’ struggles turned to thrashing. He tried to kick, and found his feet could reach nothing worthwhile. He yanked at his hands, and found G’raha’s grip like iron. He hissed and growled, hands curled into flexing claws that grasped little more than air — but still said nothing like _no_ or _stop_. 

When he realized he was well and truly caught, his writhing quieted, his empty snarling petering off to harsh panting. In the tousling his gown had rucked up to his collarbone, such that he was on full display for G’raha’s eyes to drink in. When his head dropped back with a rough sigh, his neck long and exposed, G’raha knew he’d won.

Smiling wide in triumph, he ducked his head to press his lips to the peak of the bared throat before him in a gentle kiss, his tail curling in pleasure.

He was achingly hard. Evidence laid long and flushed-red along Hades’ tellingly swollen lips.

“How about now?” He asked, patient and teasing only because he knew the answer, because he’d already won, because he had his warm and willing mate under him and neither of them were going _anywhere_.

Sure enough, Hades said, “ _Please,_ ” a sigh of a word, his hips shifting as much as they could against G’raha. 

Shifting Hades’ wrists again to one hand (for his mind foggily recalled another time he had made the mistake of letting go, thinking himself the winner, only to be reminded that his partner was never one to foresake an advantage), G’raha took himself in his other and lined himself again to his entrance. 

Though he wanted to rush, he pressed in slowly, drawing back to push forward in small, agonizing increments. Hades’ body caught and dragged at him, welcoming him back and encouraging him deeper with each roll of his hips. Below him, Hades drew in a hissing breath, his eyes falling shut. His legs tightened over G’raha’s shoulders, his feet and toes curling. His hands flexed, his fingers digging into his palms

Heat. Open, inviting. Wet, warm, perfect. Exactly what he’d needed.

He reached his hilt too soon. Although he was sure Hades suffered no discomfort, heat being what it was, he paused to relish the complete feeling of finally, _finally_ , joining with another. A deep purr started from the back of his throat, and he did nothing to stop it.

When he brushed his thumb to the swollen nub over the skin stretched around his dick, Hades’s eyes snapped open.

“ _Ever_ the gentleman,” was his too-cohesive protest, though it was no protest at all. G’raha drew his thumb over that spot again, and Hades’ head rose from the bed, his face unsure whether it wanted to smirk or scowl. “Must you? At the same time? This body is experiencing-- many new sensations, and- it-- is difficult to concentrate beyond the- _Exarch._ ”

Undoubtedly to keep himself from yelping, Hades clamped his teeth over his bottom lip on the last word when G’raha combined his absent petting with a long, slow thrust. Hades’ head fell back to the bed, his eyes once again squeezed shut. He seemed to be attempting to get his breathing under control, silly as that seemed.

Figuring he wouldn’t be refused _now_ , G’raha let go of Hades’ wrists (they remained where they were, limp) to take his hip in hand. Tucking his knees forward, he pulled the other more into his lap. His warmth was addicting, his smell-feel- _everything_ enticing. Hades made for a very pretty sprawl, not that G’raha would ever tell him so: his hair was wild, some plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his shockingly ( _vainly_ ) ample breasts moved in time with G’raha’s shallow thrusts.

One of Hades’ legs fell to his side as he sped up his grinding and petting. That leg squeezed into his side as they went, Hades abandoned his attempts to keep his composure and panted openly, one of his arms dropping so that he might dig his fingers into G’raha’s hair and hold on.

 _That_ spurred G’raha to a new fervor. He wanted to-- he needed to-

He leaned forward, covering Hades’ body with his own. His thrusts turned sharp and deep, both hands clutched tight to Hades’ hips to ensure he remained _close_. Mouthing along the underside of Hades’ jaw, which Hades helpfully tilted his head back farther to give him fine access to, he nosed into the soft side of his neck and licked, then nipped. 

When he received a rumbling purr that matched his own in response, the nip turned into a gentle bite, then a rougher one, then a hard one, skin caught and held and impressed upon with intent. The mark would be high and visible. _His_ mark, for all to see, and Hades knew it, for a whimper fell from Hades’ throat, a sound that wholly belonged to his new body and not the soul within. Rare and revealing as it was, it went right to G’raha’s hindbrain: here was _his_ partner, _his_ mate, set to wear _his_ mark. It had been so long since he had someone he could call irrevocably his, and never before one who had joined him for a heat.

They would do so well by one another. They were strong, and well-matched, and incredible. Hades more than most. G’raha _would_ do right by him. They could have _children._ Long had his blood urged him to pass on the lineage, to sire a new generation. A being as strong as Hades would bear ideal heirs. 

(Heat-fantasies. Once he regained his senses, G’raha despised them.)

Once he was sure he’d held the skin long enough to bruise, he let go and soothed over the purple-red skin with another lick and kiss.

Hades, good partner he was, turned his head to catch G'raha's mouth in a real kiss. It was sloppy, loose, more shared breath than shared tongue; but it worked, and it burned, and soon G’raha had to break it off to bury his face back toward his mark, the heat in him drawing to a head, rising high and pulling him tight as a bow.

Beneath him, Hades arched his back and dipped his hand between them to tend to his own heat, chasing the same relief G’raha felt building in the base of his spine. By the clenching around his dick and heel driving again into his back, the shaky exhale that tapered into a moan, he’d found it.

Instinct drove G’raha deep as release washed over him, and he held tight to Hades as they both rode it out. He felt his base swell and set, locking them together. Close. As they should be. 

After, he needed a moment to catch his breath and stop seeing white. Satisfaction made his limbs loose, and he fell forward to lay upon his partner. Hades looped his arms around his back, their sweat mingling. A hand thumped once against his shoulder, forcing him to shift slightly to give Hades a bit more room to breathe. He’d temporarily forgotten how much smaller the other’s body had been transformed to.

The fire under his skin dulled to smoldering embers, though it would rise no less than a dozen more times before the week was over. In the immediate aftermath of a coupling, he felt sated and drowsy. He helped Hades out of his bunched-up gown, then used its decently clean side to dab off _some_ of the sweat that had gathered between them, before tossing the flimsy material off the side of the bed and settling down again.

Just as he was about to doze off, he felt Hades shifting restlessly beneath him. Mumbling a wordless inquiry, G’raha raised his head enough to blink questioningly at him.

Hades was unusually disjointed with his words. A wince punctuated the middle of his sentence. “What’s-- there appears to be-? I’ve never felt that from you before. It reminds me of... But, did you not--?”

G’raha took a bit to parse out his meaning. In truth, he only reached an understanding because when Hades’ shifting tugged at where they were joined, Hades again winced, his bafflement growing.

Similarly wincing, as it was still _very sensitive_ , G’raha hastened to say, “That would be my, ah, knot. It only happens during heat. It’s barbed.”

“So I can tell!” Hades replied, voice rising to new heights.

G’raha didn’t see the problem. Intellectually he knew other races didn’t have a similar thing, as few shared in miqo’te’s heats, but surely it wasn’t that odd? Hades must have experienced stranger encounters. In any case, “If you don’t move, it won’t hurt.”

By sheer, vexed willpower, Hades stilled. He made sure G’raha knew he wasn’t happy about it, though, based on his scowl and huffed, “When does it _lessen?_ ”

That was the tone he took when he was mildly inconvenienced but not actually upset. G’raha lowered his head back to the other’s chest, which had become his makeshift pillow. He idly dragged a hand over the soft curve of a breast, thumbing just below the peak and watching the thin skin pebble. By how Hades’ breath caught, it was still sensitive. The differences between his male and female forms were likely to be extensive in a myriad of small, delightful ways. G’raha planned to learn each before they left the room again.

He said, “Half a bell or so.”

“Underworld take me.” 

G’raha hummed his amusement, too relaxed to be anything but mildly entertained at Hades’ distaste. Despite his grumbling, Hades settled more comfortably into the bed, arm curled around G’raha’s back and his hand resting in its typical good scratching place at the base of his ears. Their tails found one another’s and entwined. 

Of course, the happy silence did not last long.

Hades insisted on continuing with, “What biological purpose does that possibly serve when you’re capable of complex speech?”

“Mm,” he nosed up to Hades’ neck to kiss again at the mark he’d left, his hand cupping the other’s breast, “I haven’t the faintest clue, and I absolutely don’t intend to think about it at present, as I’d rather take a nap. I recommend you do the same, lest you wish to hold your debate with the wall. If you do, perhaps you’ll gain an understanding for how your debate partners _usually_ feel.”

Hades flicked his ear tip for his mouthiness. But then he also fell into comfortable, sleepy silence, so evidently, biology won out again.


	4. Reminder - G'raha/Emet-Selch [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **characters:** G'raha Tia/Emet-Selch  
>  **prompt:** sometimes, g'raha tia, don't u just wanna go apeshit (or: emet-selch, don't u just wanna get the crap beaten out of u)
> 
>  **warning:** uhh so this is a classic rape fantasy fic, only fixated more on the Sundered v Unsundered, Dirty v Clean split. everything is fully consensual and negotiated, and it's set in an established relationship (also years after Anabasis' end), BUT yeah it gets a lil heavy, emotionally speaking. please read with caution!

“You could stand to be rougher.”

“Wasn’t it just last week that Y’shtola inquired where you found your menagerie of scarves and high-collared shirts?”

“As I understood it, she fancied a few for herself. With how that hyur sniffs at her heels, I shan’t blame her.”

“— Thancred acts with a little more class than a dog.”

“To each their own opinion.” Dismissively said, in a manner that Hades hadn’t used in regards to the other Scions for some time. Before he’d even finished speaking, he rolled Raha flat to his back, pinning him by the shoulders and-- _looming_ , for lack of a better term. Raha didn’t know what to make of the strange glint in his eye. It was half calculating, half cold, and all echoed back to days before they worked well together. “Nonetheless, my original point stands. You’re too… soft.”

They were in the Tower’s main bedroom. It was, and had been for the past five years, better described as _their_ bedroom, but that was a term best used exclusively within the safe confines of one’s thoughts. In any case, it had been a well-used bedroom, with a very well-used bed, to include the night prior.

Thus startled, Raha guffawed. 

He said, “Considering last night, that isn’t the complaint I thought I’d hear today.“

Fingers digging into his shoulders, Hades’ mouth twisted into a near-sneer. Cloyingly sweet, he said, “I wouldn’t trust what is said in the heat of the moment, and neither should you. _Come now._ I know you have it in you.”

“You’ll have to elaborate on what you mean by that,” Raha rebuffed, refusing to rise to what he suspected to be bait, “though I would think you’d be better served by merely telling me where your mood is truly taking you.”

“Think of that as the polite request.” Sneer shifting into a small smirk, he said, “Since it appears you’ve missed the point, however, I can show you.”

Without giving Raha a chance to answer, he lowered his head-- and _bit_ his neck. 

Jolting, Raha yelped. It had felt like a true bite, one which threatened to draw blood -- as an animal might. Hades, the _bastard_ , chuckled at him, setting his teeth to rest pointedly on the throbbing pulsepoint at the side of his neck.

At last giving up on holding still, Raha shoved at Hades to back off. To his surprise, Hades didn’t; instead he bore his weight down on him, sliding forward until he was pressed chest-to-chest with Raha, his arms pinning his shoulders and hands taking fistfuls of hair to keep his head drawn back. 

“Hades--!” Raha snarled, struggling against his weight. In the olden days, he would take this sort of move as an attack. At present, it was just-- _frustrating._ “Speak your mind, damn you! What are you doing?!”

Hades, of course, sounded as unconcerned as ever. 

“Hadn’t I said? I’m showing you what I want,” with warm breath tickling at the underside of Raha’s clenched jaw, “since you evidently aren’t listening.”

“You’re making no sense,” Raha protested. “You’ve said nothing of substance!”

In answer, Hades again bit his neck - a hair’s breadth above the last, which felt tender beyond belief.

It _hurt._ With an aborted shout, Raha bucked. Letting go of his hold on Raha’s neck, Hades tipped to the left, but quickly righted himself-- and, inanely, went in for a kiss.

Ah.

So he was in one of _those_ moods.

Raha turned his head away, not liking it one bit. Hades chuckled again against his cheek, which Raha liked even less. It sounded off. Like he was lost in his own head, unaware of even who he laid atop of. 

Right. Raha was done playing this game.

He pried his right arm loose from under Hades’ body. Digging crystal fingers under his ribs, he _shoved_ Hades to the side.

Tipping at last, Hades fell to his side with a light whuf. Knowing retaliation to be on the horizon if he didn’t act first, Raha kept up with the inertia and rolled atop him.

Hades curled his lip up at him, a wild glint to his eyes. He reached to again yank at Raha’s hair with one hand, his other reaching to close around his neck. Raha snagged both by the wrist and slammed them down on either side of Hades’ head. Shifting quick to pin his shoulders with his knees, he sat _heavy_ upon the other’s diaphragm, such that Hades’ breath came out as a struggling wheeze.

(It felt a little good to quiet him down, considering the throbbing ache that had settled into his neck from the other’s sudden taste for biting.)

If he wanted, he could have foregone breathing and kept up a fight. If he truly wanted, he could snap his fingers and teleport himself far from Raha’s clutches. 

He didn’t want that, apparently. That was a familiar sign that his actions spoke to a deeper meaning, at least. Whenever he wanted to talk through a point without talking, he held back on his sorcery. 

Unfortunately, what he wanted remained an unnecessary mystery.

“We’re not doing this,” Raha growled, dipping his head down to put his eyes close to Hades’, as if by sheer willpower he could transmit his seriousness, “whatever _this_ is.”

That seemed to finally get through to his head, as Hades went to great pains to suck in enough air between grit teeth to tell him, “It’s what you wanted.” 

“It isn’t,” Raha promised him.

“It _is_ ,” he insisted, words tight with limited air capacity. “Back then. When we met. You wanted to tear me apart.”

“I-- what?”

Surprised yet again, Raha pulled back to better look at him, his eyes wide. When he didn’t attempt to break Raha’s hold despite the new space, he shifted back and off his diaphragm. Immediately Hades pulled in a bigger breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he did. 

The rest of him remained taut as a bowstring. In the back of his mind, he was impressed Hades hadn’t started shuddering -- he looked tense enough for it.

He said, “You witnessed a time wherein I and mine succeeded at ushering in the Eighth Calamity. Think of the lives lost. The destruction wrought. And that was but the Eighth. Were our dreams fully realized, had our work but found its eternal end, four more yet remained...”

“If you were hoping to inspire me to kiss you,” Raha said, taken so off guard he fell into _incredulous_ , “congratulations on managing the exact opposite.”

“Do you never think of it?” Hades’ eyes cracked open. A thin ring of pale gold shined up at him, the pupil blown wide in some perverse delight. “You lay with your kind’s greatest enemy. Ah, except truly, your transgressions only begin there. You not only enjoy his bed, but his mind; you’ve cradled his soul and thought it beautiful; and, worst of all, you wake and look upon him, and forgive daily what atrocities he committed against you and yours.”

Knots tightening in his stomach with every new, awful word, Raha released his wrists and made to lean back. 

That was apparently the wrong move. Quick as lightning, Hades’ meandering voice sharpened with a silent snarl, his hands catching Raha’s in a claw-like grip.

“Well?” He demanded, sitting up to put himself nose-to-nose with Raha. His tone was vicious, meant to hurt. “Tell me you never think of it, my _dear_ Exarch, and I will tell you of what a poor liar you make.”

“If I didn’t believe we could change,” Raha replied, tone steely to cover his sudden uncertainty, “we would not be where we are, as we are. Now kindly release me, my dearly pitiful villain, or--”

He stopped. That ‘or’ had slipped out.

“Or what?” Hades asked, his eyes wide and again glinting with a wild edge. “What might a sundered do? Achieve vengeance at last? Your people’s stories are ever so fond of that cyclical curse.”

Long had it been since Hades drew such deep, overtly hostile divides between their species.

While the urge to throw that fact back in his face rose fast in Raha’s mind, he stilled his tongue. Considering Hades through narrowed eyes, he thought through what he’d said. 

That he spoke as much about Raha as he did himself was obvious. As to the cause of this cruel mood, Raha could think only of his recent visitor. He knew him to have walked with Elidibus upon a remote, Source-bound nation’s distant shoreline in the past week, discussing who-knew-what. Elidibus had met with Raha face-to-face all of three times in the past five years. Of those, Hades had been present at each, and only once had he deigned to directly acknowledge him. Knowing the Unsundered to be more reserved and cautious than malicious, he hadn’t taken it personally. 

Of the other Scions, Elidibus had met with Urianger twice. Urianger claimed the meetings went well. Despite that (or because of that), he also seemed unsurprised by Elidibus’ lack of overall engagement.

“... I’ve thought of it,” he said, finally.

Hades stared. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Raha to actually admit that.

Raha almost scoffed at him. Did he think him so delicate?

(Alright, fine. Sometimes, he was. He just didn’t like dancing on glass as much as Hades did when it came to confrontational topics.)

“And,” he continued, once it seemed Hades had grown tired of his pause and had been about to interrupt, “‘forgive’ is a strong word for what emotions such memories bring to my mind.”

“Is that right?”

“One person can hardly forgive another for the suffering he caused entire civilizations,” he said, voice and expression at last steady, “especially when that other doesn’t truly feel they were in the wrong, or that there’s any need to repent.”

“I’ve played nice,” Hades argued, sounding a little petulant and a little darkly amused, “and made some amends. For instance, I’ve ensured that the Eighth Calamity remains firmly off the table.”

That was more like himself. Raha untensed too, just a little.

As his wrists were still in the other’s grip and their faces still close, Raha gently pushed back. To his own private surprise, Hades allowed himself to be lowered back, til again he laid flat upon the bed.

“I won’t thank you for that,” Raha said, allowing old anger to surface because it was-- it was definitely true. Hades hummed, his mouth curving up in an _oh, well!_ smile. As likely intended, it infuriated Raha. “What else have you oh-so-graciously bestowed upon us? What could even come close to making up for what you did?”

“Nothing,” Hades replied easily. His chin tipped up, his neck a long, open stretch of pale white. His hands loosened from Raha’s wrists, then slid up to lace their fingers together. While Raha was tempted to pull his hands away, just because the previous few minutes had been absolutely horrid and Hades likely only vaguely recognized it as such, he allowed it.

“Nothing,” Raha agreed, ducking his head to nuzzle under and kiss at his jaw. Though frustration bubbled under his skin at the memories Hades dragged up, he held himself firmly in check. Nosing along his neck made him feel better, at least. “So why talk about it?”

“Because I want you to try,” Hades _finally_ admitted, now that his eyes were safely hidden from Raha’s, and he himself laid beneath his once-enemy in faux submission and very real resignation. “I find myself growing increasingly comfortable in your presence, which makes such moments of remembrance hurt all the worse.”

To work as they did, they had mapped subjects they would not cross with one another without the backing of true, mindless anger (which in the past five years, had occurred but once, and resulted in a half-year stint of cold shouldering that they both greatly and silently regretted). For Raha, it was his dedication to the Warrior of Light. He would answer Cahsi’s call first and always, no matter his other obligations. It was simply how he was wired.

For Hades, it was nostalgia, in all its many happy and hellish forms. Which meant telling him to let bygones be bygones, or at least to move past what they had once been into what they now were, never worked.

Instead, they needed to find their place. And here, if he understood right, it meant, “You want me to… punish you?”

Hades’ fingers tightened around his. “That sounds so incredibly banal.”

“That isn’t the word I’d use.” He shifted himself flatter against Hades’ chest, setting his chin between the other’s clavicle. His tail tip twitched, his thoughts churning. “I merely wish you’d simply said that, rather than-- whatever you just tried.” He paused. Then, because he needed to do as he requested too, and speak plainly, he added, “That was awful. Treat me not as a target for _your_ imagined penance, please.”

“Mmn.” He disentangled one of his hands from Raha’s. Reaching down, he ran his fingers down the back of Raha’s head, then slid his hand between soft strands and massaged gently at the base of his skull, where before he’d pulled a fistful of his hair. It was as close to an apology as he usually got (and it admittedly felt very nice), so Raha accepted it. “Would you do that for me?”

“...” 

Leaving Hades to his ministrations, he thought it over. If he was right -- and more and more, he was, at least when it came to Hades’ quirks and wishes -- then Hades had been telling the truth in trying to ‘show him’ what he wanted. It was just that, contrary to Raha’s desires, the helplessness _had_ been the point.

Thereafter realizing his answer, he then stalled further, because the head scratches were very, very nice, and they probably wouldn’t qualify for what Hades had in mind.

Evidently he stalled too long or too obviously, as Hades stopped petting him and instead, hell of hells, pinched at the top of his ear. When he flicked it out of the way, Hades followed and started flicking it, the ass.

“I’m awake,” he grumbled, eyes opening (ah, when had they closed?) and narrowing. “I was just thinking.”

“And concluding, hopefully,” Hades said, at last ceasing his annoyances and dropping his hand back to Raha’s nape. The fingers curled with absent possession. It both tickled and, on the side of his neck with the other’s stupidity-fueled bitemark, ached.

“I want a way for you to tell me to stop,” he said, “except it can’t be ‘stop,’ because I’ve the vague feeling you might say that without meaning it.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you.” But he didn’t rebut it. “Our usual word should be fine, shouldn’t it?”

Nipping reproachfully at the soft skin below Hades’ ear, his tail thwapped against the bedsheets. “I’d like a new one.”

“Eventually,” Hades placated, except that wasn’t comforting at all because then he said, as he always did, “once it stops being effective.”

That would likely be in a thousand years, since the word was ‘Cahsi.’ Unfortunately it did, indeed, have a fantastic way of grinding any grinding to a screeching halt.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Then. I’ll just…”

“Rough,” Hades said when he trailed off and didn’t move. “Make it hurt.”

For all the hurts he’d caused.

For all the pain they’d gone through to stop him and his.

An Ascian Paragon, brought low at last...

“Any time now,” Hades sing-songed, breaking through his thoughts and their old anger.

Raha huffed. 

“You really know how to make it easy on me, don’t you?” he accused.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do.” He put his mouth to the strong line along the side of Hades’ neck. His own bitemark throbbed as a timely reminder. “Your ceaseless goading when you don’t instantly have what you want grows tiresome. You’re an ancient nag, really. Can’t leave well enough alone.”

“Says the mother hen, ever clucking in worry over the faintest rustling in the shadows beyond her perch--”

Bracing himself on Hades’ shoulders, Raha drew himself up. He let that earlier anger bubble up again, and for once, gave it an outlet.

He put his mouth to Hades’ ear and said, low and accusatory, “Except this _is_ what you want. You like this, you like being with me. You like what you once thought of as pests.” He nuzzled once across Hades’ cheek, making clear his ownership. “What would the other Ascians think if they could see you now?”

Hades had grown still, but at that, he roused himself to motion. Letting go of Raha’s hand, he pushed at Raha’s head to get him to quit, he said, indignant, “They would think me to have an odd collection of poorly trained pet--”

Raha bit his neck.

He bit hard enough to leave a mark similar to the one Hades gave him. Words cut off from a grunt of surprise, Hades put both hands at Raha’s shoulders and made to push him away. His knees rose on either side of his body, too, his body tensing as if to buck. A real role reversal, Raha absently thought-- but unlike Hades, Raha understood well what a person needed to do to break themselves out of a pin with strength alone.

As predicted, when Raha didn’t budge from his shoves, Hades bucked. Letting go of his neck, Raha took the opportunity to slide down, snag one of his hips, and turn him over. 

Mistaking it as a chance to break away, Hades went with it. He threw an elbow at Raha’s face as he scrabbled forward, attempting to get out from under him. They had no clothes between them, but of the bed sheets, they spilled from Hades’ waist to his feet.

Easily dodging it, Raha grabbed the arm and twisted it behind his back in a standard hold. Hades fell face-first to the bed, his top half folding like a snapped twig at Raha’s slightest push. Other hand fisting into the sheets, Hades turned his head to the side to glare back at his partner. Raha met the glare with a furrowed brow and frown, having kept astride his lower back.

“Raha--” Hades started, a warning snarl upon his lips. 

Whatever he meant to say was lost in a hiss as Raha nudged his arm up farther than it naturally wanted to, pushing it from an uncomfortable pose to a slightly painful one. 

Raha’s frown deepened. “Funny. A moment ago, I was just ‘the Sundered.’”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Hades scowled. “This is no fun at all. Let me up.”

That wasn’t the agreed-upon stop word.

“What’s wrong, my eminent Emet-Selch? Are you not used to being stuck under a measly Sundered?”

“I could get out in a snap of my fingers.”

“But you won’t.” Said with more confidence, Raha again leaned forward. Stretching along Hades’ back, he kept his grip tight on Hades’ forearm but returned his mouth to his ear. “Because, as mentioned, you like this. Why don’t you…” He had to think for a moment, but when the intent struck him, it seemed obvious, and so he continued into, “... tell me how much you like this?”

“I don’t,” was his response, the bared teeth loud in his expression and his words. “What is there to like? This whole physical ritual is beyond disgusting. It’s fumbling, messy, _sweaty_. It could be merely recreational, as it was meant to be, but _no._ Your kind have turned it into--”

Wanting to prove him wrong (and make sure his own thinking was correct), Raha let up on his leaning, slid back slightly, and reached a hand under Hades. What he found -- heated, hardening -- he grasped tight. Hades let out a breath of punched out air. By how his cock jumped in his hand, Raha grasped it tighter.

“‘My kind,’” he echoed. To his distant surprise, a bit of sincerity entered his voice as he chided, “It appears you’ve plenty of interest in ‘my kind.’ Why hide behind such tired and empty insults?”

Turning his head so that his face was shielded from Raha’s gaze, Hades pressed his forehead into the bed.

“Because they’re not insults, they’re truth,” he muttered, voice stubbornly steady.

For one sharp second where only their breathing existed between them, Raha considered the being laid before him. He felt a peculiar emotion rise in him. One he hadn’t dared indulge before, save in the darkest hours of a lonely night. 

Under him, Hades shifted with-- uncertainty? Either that or discomfort. He was held by the near-literal balls with his arm yet twisted up on his back. 

Thoughts oddly quiet under that emotion’s overwhelming presence, he took a breath to steady himself and then consciously decided to act on instinct. 

Loosening his grip, Raha stroked up Hades’ cock. His own, pressed to the cleft of Hades’ ass, took a little interest in the proceedings as well.

“I’m fairly tired of your opinions masquerading as fact, Ascian.”

At that, Hades huffed a laugh.

_\-- Rude._

In response, Raha let go of him entirely. He briefly fell forward, arms splaying out. Just as he pushed himself up, however, Raha snapped forward and, with a hard push between his shoulder blades, shoved him back down. Hades pushed himself back up again, turning his head to once more glare back at Raha-- only to yelp as he was, _again_ , pushed down. 

That time, Raha put his left hand to his nape and pressed. Spreading his fingers along the sides of Hades’ neck, he squeezed warningly when he saw Hades’ arms tense as if ready to leverage him once more. The other he put between Hades’ shoulders, nails digging white crescents into his skin. At last Hades seemed to get the hint, or at least was willing to play at temporary surrender, and didn’t try again.

Raha’s heart beat fast enough to rival a wild chocobo’s after a close call with a hunter. He wasn’t sure-- he didn’t really know what he was doing-- but, he found he liked it, a little, when Hades got the message and _stayed down_.

Of course, Hades couldn’t make it that easy. He turned his head enough to show Raha the whites of his teeth, bearing them in an arrogant smile.

“As I thought. All you have is your violence,” Hades said then, heedless of the hand around his neck. “Your base nature calls to you. It must feel so freeing to finally welcome it home into your heart, hm, Exa--ah-rch?”

“Hm? … Did you enjoy that?”

His nails were nothing compared to his ancestor’s (and were crystal besides, smooth and solid), but they still left nice, white-to-irritated-red lines down Hades’ back when dragged with intent. 

“Enjoy what? Your scratching? Hardly,” Hades bluffed.

Though his mouth had gone curiously dry, Raha tsked. 

He said, “Shame, because I did.”

If violence was what Hades expected...

But he didn’t give him violence, not really. He dragged his nails from shoulder to hip, then started again. Then, again. Then, _again_ , along the same line, the same space. It was-- somehow hypnotizing, to see what happened when he did that. He started to think he felt the heat radiating from Hades’ back, that the skin actually caught under nails which had long crystallized into blocky points. He learned well the bumps of Hades’ ribs, and the soft dip that followed once he hit the muscle and light fat of his lower back. 

Like this, his arm felt alive again.

Hades’ mouth dropped open in the middle of the seventh scratch. Thin and raw, four lines of irritated skin threatened blood if tracked again by unyielding crystal.

When Raha finally paused, Hades was left panting. His fingers flexed in the sheets, his eyes squeezed shut. Back bowed low, legs spread wide, he pressed hard against Raha. Encouraging. 

Blood dotted the scratched lines. Nothing large, nothing that wouldn’t scab over before they moved forward.

“You’re so attached to this body,” Raha commented, more vehement than he intended. When he opened his mouth again, what spilled out was, “I love it, too. It’s beautiful. Very mortal.”

 _That_ prompted a full-bodied shudder from Hades.

“Will you ruin what you cherish?” Hades asked him.

“If it is in my blood, it seems I must,” he answered, and again tightened his fingers around Hades’ neck.

Another full-bodied shudder. He had to be fully hard by now. _Had_ been, probably-- but when, Raha wondered. When he’d first laid hands on his neck? When he’d drawn blood?

“Tell me not to ruin you.” The words fell from him once again without his conscious regard. His own breath came a little faster, his cock heavy upon Hades’ ass. He moved himself back slightly, set his red-dappled fingers to Hades’ entrance. Unyielding crystal on soft, unprepared flesh. “Beg me to stop.”

“ _Beg,_ ” Hades spat, his pupils blown wide and snapping to Raha’s, “when you are the one lucky enough to even know of my presence, I will not _beg_ for anything from _you._ ”

“Remember you have the option, at least,” Raha advised him, then forced the tip of his finger into him. 

Grunting from the dry intrusion, Hades jerked forward, away. Raha pressed down on his neck and followed him, forcing the rest of his finger in. As he did, he marveled that flesh wouldn’t have allowed him such easy access. Even with the muted sensations that his crystal hand gave him, he knew Hades to be unbearably tight around his finger, his body unhappy with the sudden intrusion.

Giving him a moment to adjust, he placed his second finger, curled, at his rim. The flesh jumped, Hades reflexively shivering at what was to come.

Yet, because Raha couldn’t help himself, he first offered, “You could make this easier on yourself. Tell me what you want, if not for me to stop.”

Taking a moment to swallow, Hades finally panted, “I want nothing from you.”

“Your body says otherwise.” He withdrew his first finger, then lined up two more. “But if you insist. Don’t forget -- you can always ask me to stop. I’d have thought you’d want me to. Evidently not.”

Though Hades’ jaw clenched shut, a tight, whining moan fell from his lips when Raha went from two fingers to three within two strokes. When he added a fourth on the third, the skin around his entrance stretched too wide too fast and _too dry_ , Hades’ mouth again dropped open, his eyes snapping wide and feet pushing him away. Raha let go of his neck to take a hold of his hip and hold him back. Immediately, he gathered his arms below him and made to get up, his temporary surrender evidently over. 

To stop him, Raha wrapped his flesh arm around his middle and pulled him close. Predictably, Hades fought him, trying to twist and turn to get away. But gravity was on Raha’s side, especially when he pulled out his crystal hand to help hold him steady, and soon he fell into Raha’s lap.

Once there, Raha tipped him again onto his front. Pressing an undoubtedly painful hand directly on the worst of the scratched lines upon his back, he shifted onto his knees while Hades fought to regain his footing. Shifting swiftly onto his knees and dragging Hades’ hips up, he worked his knees between Hades’ legs and forced them open. 

At that, Hades snarled a hateful, “No!” and, “Don’t touch me,” and, “Damn you, don’t--”

Taking himself in hand and lining up, he pushed himself with one quick thrust into Hades’ tight entrance. 

It was not a smooth glide. He was looser than he would have been, certainly, but without oil and only a few moments’ worth of being worked open, he might as well have been a vice around Raha’s dick. 

But at the moment, it didn’t really matter. What became a priority was setting a _pace_ : something Hades would feel, something to drive him into the bed and keep him there.

Fisting one hand in Hades’ hair and curling the other around his hip, Raha did just that. The obscene sound of flesh on flesh filled the air, his thrusts quick and hard. He bore down on Hades, whose legs soon gave out such that he fell completely flat. When he did, Raha held still enough to jerk his hips back up til his legs again supported his weight, keenly aware that he did not want Hades to find friction on _anything_ before he deemed it time.

When he did pull him up in such a manner, another moan stuttered its way from Hades’ throat. Head pulled back at an uncomfortable angle, mouth forced open, body contorted to allow Raha’s shorter reach-- he looked a _sight_. 

“Were that someone else was here, as well,” Raha said, struck by the thought in the haze of an incoming climax, “that they might see you for who you truly are, too. Mortal or immortal... Urianger or Elidibus-- that they might know you love this-- _messy and fumbling_ though it is. _Indignant_ though it is.” 

“I-- don’t-” he insisted, each word a gasp. “I--”

“If you won’t tell me to stop,” Raha interrupted, digging his flesh-and-blood nails into Hades’ hip before scratching, hard, up the side, “then tell me what you want. To touch you? To fuck you harder? I had thought to fill you and then continue with my hand, after which you may clean it with your oh-so-clever tongue.”

He let go of Hades’ hair, allowing his head to drop down and hide his face again in the sheets. With that crystal hand, he clawed again down Hades’ back, dragging red lines in parallel on the left to the ones on the right.

“Stop,” Hades demanded then, something in him edging close to a break -- before he recovered with a roughened, “stop _talking_.”

“Me?” With a breathless laugh, Raha’s thrusts slowed. He pulled back to the tip, paused, then pressed in, letting out a long exhale as he did. He paused again only once he was seated to the hilt. While the vice-like tightness had been fucked out of him, he still burned insanely hot around Raha’s shaft. The part of him not set on chasing his release wanted him to bury himself in Hades forever, to soak in that heat and take in the sight of Hades’ abused entrance stretched prettily around him, the whole of him a deep red from their harsh pace. The ridged line of Hades’ spine faintly glistened, sweat having pooled in the edges. Holding himself forcibly -- barely -- still, he petted lightly at Hades’ hip. Consolingly. “Fine. Look at me.” 

Face pressed into the bed, chest heaving as he apparently focused on catching his breath, Hades did not.

Raha waited two breaths, then scratched again along his hip. Real nails, it turned out, worked just as well at making reddened marks.

“Hades,” he bid, tone threateningly light. “Look at me. I shan’t ask again.”

At that, he turned his head at last to the side. His body shuddered as he did, his fingers clenching in the sheets. Face flushed, he’d bitten his lower lip into a plump red. For all he wavered, his eyes focused well on Raha, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotion.

In that moment, Raha very much wanted to kiss him.

The anger that had simmered in him abated to something kinder, lighter. A feeling like victory edged it, though its core was pure affection. Here _was_ an Ascian, defeated; here was Emet-Selch, never again to usher in a Calamity as long as Raha lived. Let him indulge in old memories and persistent disdain for a sundered world. It mattered not, as he couldn’t -- and wouldn’t -- do anything about it, because he had found some spot of happiness here, among mortals.

\-- But that was too on-point and too cruel to say aloud and to Hades’ face, even for an exercise like this.

Instead, Raha said, “I’m going to sit back, and you’re going to ride me. Once and only after I finish, I’ll finally touch you. How’s that?”

He didn’t really think Hades would listen, but he did. 

After he got Hades’ nod, Raha sat back until his shoulders hit the wall. Hades followed him, keeping them locked until Raha had found his seat, legs loosely crossed. 

Then, exactly as requested, Hades spread his legs to either side of Raha’s, straightened himself atop his lap, and rode him out. 

Though his touch stuttered along with Hades’ undulations, Raha ran his hands along Hades’ sides and up his front. Fingers toying along the flexing planes of his stomach, he scratched lightly at the peaks of his chest. Save his heavy breathing, which panted from him in time with the rise and fall of his body, he remained mostly silent. It wasn’t until Raha smoothed a hand over his neck and pressed a thumb to the now-bruised mark that he allowed himself a shaky groan, his shoulders flinching up and head falling back of its own accord. 

Arching his marred back, Hades braced himself on Raha’s knees, and doubled his pace. 

Laying heavy and untouched between his legs, his neglected cock dripped. As flushed as the rest of him, he looked a touch away from coming. While it moved with him, it met nothing but air on every thrust. By Hades’ harsh breathing and twitching muscles, he could have come without ever having a hand on him. But that wasn’t the point, and some part of him remembered that well enough to hold out, this leaving him unattended and needy.

An idle, uncharitable thought struck Raha: he could watch Hades deny himself for days, watch him crawl close to his desire only to fall short everytime, until Raha decided he’d done enough. It was— an incredible feeling, one that felt hot and heady in the pit of Raha’s stomach. 

This could be a first, not a last. 

That would be beautiful.

Soon, what had been a pleasant joining gained an urgent edge. Raha’s hands returned to Hades’ hips, where he directed him in more shallow, quicker thrusts, his hips kept low and grinding. Raha’s blood ran in his ears, his stomach tightening with building heat.

“Look at you,” Raha said, or so he would later recall, his thoughts jumbled and mouth running of its own accord, “bloodied, but barely so. Next time, we will have to-- push you further, see how grand you are with a mouthful of my seed and- your eyes, giving away that you love it, you want it, exactly as it-- as I- _exactly as I am_ \--” 

That pushed him over the edge. He held Hades down, whining low in his throat as he came within him, wrapped in that heat and that knowledge, that understanding that Hades was _here_ and _his,_ exactly as they were, with flaws and perfections both on display.

When he came down from his orgasm, he found Hades still in his lap. Heat continued to envelop his softening cock. 

Sooner than later, Hades began to shift restlessly from right to left. Every small shift sent a jolt up Raha’s spine, where they joined quickly becoming overly sensitive to any movement. 

“ _Raha_ ,” Hades breathed in a quiet moan that, from anyone else, would have become a plea.

Raha had enough of his wits about him to reply with, “Mm? Yes?” -- though he had to swallow twice to unstick his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth, and take an equally long moment to wrestle his breathing under control. 

The thing was, yes, he had his end of the bargain to keep up. But that didn’t mean he had to rush to it. That hadn’t been what Hades had asked for in the beginning.

“Don’t pretend not to know,” Hades started, his hackles rising fast; then stopped, as his brain caught up with his mouth and informed it that wasn’t the best route to take. 

Teeth clicking shut, he breathed heavily through his nose.

For his part, Raha waited him out. With his left hand, he again petted along Hades’ hip. 

Unsurprisingly, it did little to placate him.

After what felt like a small eternity for someone with that degree of a hard-on, Raha prompted again, “Yes? What would you like?”

Another long, harsh pause.

Through gritted teeth, Hades asked, “Touch me.”

Raha nudged him forward. He went easily, almost eagerly, pulling off Raha and not even flinching at how white-and-a-little-pink dripped from him. Raha grimaced at the abrupt cold, but quickly pulled him back so that his spine was flush with his chest. Guiding him further down, Hades moved until he was lowered enough for Raha to set his chin upon his shoulder. Though the pressure against his scratched up back couldn’t feel fantastic, the only sign he gave of discomfort was a single, absent grimace. Raha allowed him that without comment.

Once they were thus situated, Raha tipped his head to the side and pressed a soft kiss over his bitemark’s bruise. 

He said, “I am touching you,” and then set to nipping and sucking a new bruise just below it.

With a sound that was certainly supposed to be annoyed but lost itself too quickly to edged pleasure, Hades gave him a shaky moan for that, his hips again shifting left to right. Right hand locking onto the top of his thigh, Raha stilled him. As he did, his crystal hand warm and heavy and — to Hades’ mind — full of promise, Hades’ head dropped to the side and forward, his chest expanding out with a deep inhale. It hitched on the exhale as Raha quickly bit and then licked over his newest mark. Satisfaction curled in Raha’s chest, his throat rumbling with a deeply pleased purr. 

Though he surely hated the attention when he really wanted Raha’s mouth elsewhere, Hades made no move to stop him.

In fact, he remained so pliant and patient as Raha nosed teasingly at the soft skin behind his ear that he praised him with, “See? Doesn’t this feel good? We don’t have to fight. All you had to do was give in.”

At that, Hades made a noise of wordless and meaningless protest, his head rolling back to rest on Raha’s shoulder. When Raha looked, his eyes were closed tight, his mouth drawn taut in concentration. Between his legs, his cock had grown ruddy. Its crown shined, its tip slick with Hades’ leaking want.

In a reward that surely felt like a punishment, Raha smoothed his warm hand along Hades’ other thigh. He drew light fingers close to Hades’ cock, but never quite reached it. Occasionally he added the gentlest scratch of nails, which sent a shiver along Hades’ thighs and made his stomach jump. Eventually he trusted that Hades wouldn’t move even if left to his own devices, and thereafter moved his other hand lower. He traced his own spillage along Hades’ legs, spreading it before it fully dried.

After a good stretch of roughened silence, Hades struggling not to move or pant too loudly while Raha idly mapped out his inner thighs, Hades spoke. 

His words came close to a growl, though the effect was ruined by the breathy, borderline-desperate quality. “I want you to.” 

“To what?” Raha inquired, something base in him thrilling at hearing Hades break.

It was a softer affair than Hades had expected, probably. But then, though he liked to deny it, that was obviously the way to an Ascian’s heart.

“Please.” A ghost of a word. Then, louder, “Touch me. Please. I want you to touch me. You’ve fucked me, but you haven’t-- I need your hands on me, _now._ ”

 _Louder_ , Raha thought to demand, his fingers tensing atop Hades’ thighs, but-- no. Maybe the next time.

“All you had to do was ask,” he said instead, and reached to take him firmly in hand.

Hades gave another full-bodied shudder at his touch. All at once, he seemed ready to shake apart, his breath lost save for a relieved hitch and hissing whimper.

Three strong strokes, and he was done. 

He came with Raha murmuring praise for his good behavior into his ear, and damningly gentle hands milking him through his orgasm. His first breath as he came down from the high was closer to a sob than anything else. 

Raha put two fingers to his chin and turned his head so that he might, finally, kiss him properly. 

After that were true sobs, great, heaving, gasping ones that -- by the wide-eyed look on his face -- baffled Hades immensely. Though Hades groused about it immediately, Raha didn’t question them, but instead gathered his shaking form close and held him through it. Though they needed to clean up soon — he had to feel gross — Raha felt no need to rush his moment of catharsis. As Raha expected, once he was drawn in to safety, the weeping overtook his attempts at needless complaining.

There and only there did he whisper _stop, please, stop_ and mean it, his tear-stricken face buried in Raha’s chest. Legs pulled up and hands convulsively opening and closing between them, he repeated the pleas again and again. 

It was the first time Raha ever heard him beg.

(It wasn’t the last.)

Knowing it wasn’t for him, Raha worked a hand between Hades’, laced their fingers together, and squeezed tight.


	5. Affection - G'raha Tia/Emet-Selch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **characters:** emet-selch, g'raha tia  
>  **prompt:** the friendly consequences of having a soul-link :] set soon after the end of Anabasis
> 
>  **warning:** emotionally nsfw?? not technically explicit but lots of fluffy feelings. really just me wanting to play around with quasi-telepatyh as well as write extremely sappy exselch. enjoy!

**I.**

The first time G’raha Tia noticed the link between Hades and himself, he nearly fell off a cliff.

To be fair, he nearly fell off a cliff because a coeurl’s ambush spooked the chocobo he was riding and, before he knew it, he’d been thrown from the saddle to tumble down the rocky hillside which, as mentioned, cut off sharply into a far more rocky cliffside. The landing promised to hurt. Gravity often hit harder than a sword. He’d survived worse, but he had no way to brace himself other than summon a shield and hope his important body-parts ended up being covered.

He felt the soul-link because, as he fell, it _snapped_ into being, clearing his panicked mind of everything other than-- 

“Hades!”

“Honestly,” Hades growled at him, snatching him by the scruff of his jacket and halting his descent with surprisingly gentle efficiency, “a cliffside fall? Truly? I expect this sort of reckless behavior from the Warrior and the other similarly-minded ruffians, but not you, Raha.”

“You’ve fantastic timing, my friend,” Raha answered, speaking with all the dignity he could muster as Hades, keeping his grip upon Raha’s jacket, levitated them slowly back up the cliffside. Though he sensed the other had them both in a firm aetherial grip, he clutched at Hades’ arm, legs and tail reflexively curled up lest they shatter first if he were to start dropping again. “However did you know my plight? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sent the coeurl just so that you might perform a daring rescue.”

“I was in the midst of correcting the misaligned measurements of Urianger’s astrolab, actually, which is very _delicate work._ ”

“Ah, Urianger had mentioned your need to help with something to that affect…” as well as how Hades had miscalculated the measurements by several centuries’ worth of star-movements, so Urianger was letting him ‘correct’ the astrolab so that he might learn when and where Hades had last studied astrology. As far as Raha could tell, Urianger’s distraction with learning Hades’ smaller, odder flaws had to do with his dry spell for adventures and mysteries. It was amusing enough (and it wasn’t like Hades ever freely admitted his wrongs til they exploded in his face), so Raha didn’t attempt to dissuade him. More presently-- “How did you know I was taking a tumble down the hillside?”

“Your distress felt genuine enough to be caused by something of worthwhile note,” Hades grouched, “except then I drop my _very delicate_ work to arrive and lend my aid, only to find it to be caused by a mere disagreement with gravity.”

A mere disagreement--!

… Oh.

Right. He was supposed to have more than a shield to deal with _falling_ , wasn’t he.

“Of course, I hadn’t forgotten the levitation spell you taught me,” Raha lied, “I simply--” simply what? His thoughts went to how his mind had stuck upon his awareness of Hades as he fell, despite the most pressing matter of the painful landing. That had to be caused by… the link? Hades had mentioned its perks, but Raha had yet to personally feel or understand any of it. Perhaps he simply hadn’t known what to look for, until now. “that is, I wished to test our-- your, specifically-- reaction speed.”

“Hm,” Hades grumbled, and deposited him halfway up the rocky hillside. Climbing to the very top was a job squarely on his shoulders. That was fine, if not a little amusing that Hades thought he didn’t absolutely welcome the challenge. “Well. Now you know. You would do well to recall the boy that cried wolf, as well.”

Raha caught his wrist before he could teleport away.

“I may have heard a thing or two about that tale. But what has the boy to fear after he has gentled the wolf?”

“My fangs and claws are well attached,” Hades sneered, though by his old standards, it could hardly be called such, “and likewise that my stomach might hollow at any moment, whereupon the boy will again resemble a fine snack.”

Raha hummed with amusement, tugging him down to steal a kiss. The fall’s adrenaline continued to pulse through him, kicking up his heart-rate and his good spirits both.

“Ere that day arrives, allow me first to thank you for your help,” he murmured against Hades’ lips, enjoying the feel of his sneer shifting into a pleased smile and knowing it was because of him. “You’ve my word that I shall endeavor to check in on your schedule fore I tumble again off a cliffside.”

“I should think that is the least one might expect.” Emet-Selch dipped lower yet to deepen Raha’s chaste kiss, angling his head to the side to better swipe his tongue across the other’s lips. Raha hummed again, more than pleased. “I shall see you at tonight at the Tower?”

“I’d have to check my schedule, actually--” 

Hades tugged the hem of his jacket into place, both to give him a jolt and (undoubtedly) because he was a fussy old hen at heart. As Raha chuckled, unable to so stem his amusement (adrenaline was a hell of a drug), Hades rolled his eyes, took a step back, and teleported away.

In the slow climb back up the hill— fortunately he had been traveling alone for a purpose unremarkable, lest others be forced to wait or fret over his dalliance (though he would have to track down his green-feathered bird)— Raha considered what new knowledge he’d chanced upon. So _that_ was the soul-link in action; that flood of awareness, that brief but all-consuming fixation…

Surely there had to be a way to tap into that without hurtling toward a possible disfigurement. As any good scholar did, he would need to put in his research.

**II.**

The second time G’raha Tia noticed the link between Hades and himself, he did so intentionally.

That didn’t mean it went perfectly.

“ _What._ ” 

Raha opened his eyes to find Hades scowling at him from across the table in the Dawn’s Respite. They were the only two in the room, as they’d lingered after an impromptu Scion’s meeting to discuss the minutia of resource management for Revenant’s Toll generally — a topic the others found dreadfully boring, and happily left to them.

“Yes?” Raha asked back. “What… what?”

“You completely ignored my suggestion regarding the stone depot.” Hades drummed his fingers against the table, a mix of impatient and — though he would never stand for Raha to call him so aloud — sulky. “Had you thought dozing off to be a more useful expenditure of your time?” 

“I hadn’t, but now that you’ve brought it up…”

Hades scowled.

Despite his outward disdain, his inner fondness grew. Raha could feel it: like morning light over dewy grass, it chased away the night’s lonely chill. His skin prickled with the faint heat, though the room’s temperature surely hadn’t changed. Faint though it was, it was undeniably there. He knew Hades’ emotions well, generally speaking, but this understanding— went deeper. As if it the other stated his emotions directly, and had no ability to lie in any manner.

It was Hades speaking through their link.

Likely not intentionally, but merely the link performing as it was meant to. Raha hadn’t managed to identify it clearly in the midst of their day-to-day before then. When he realized what had happened, he gave Hades a big, happy smile, as he hadn’t been entirely sure he’d sensed _anything_ right until that moment. They’d spoken across aether-based calls before -- that had been how Raha summoned Cahsi two years prior, and how Raha and Hades had spoken in the interim (and how Hades knew when one of them called his name, which was a nifty bit of spellwork that Raha would like to learn once he knew he could properly answer the call and also that it wouldn’t be used indefinitely to annoy him, though he suspected that to be the price to pay for having friends). The soul-link felt different. For Raha, it took no true effort, only concentration. 

Sort of like meditation. Only the end point was a grouchy old ancient who brought anything _but_ peace.

“I’ll admit, I was distracted by…” if he was entirely honest, Hades was bound to tease him. But, he found himself too excited by his achievement to withhold it. "Our link, actually. It stole took my attention quite thoroughly.”

That surprised the scowl off Hades’ face. “Our link?”

"Despite our connection in soul, I fear I hadn’t understood its full potential.” Hades tilted his head in a silent _oh really? I noticed, but do go on_. Raha rounded the table to be closer to him as he spoke. “This does explain why I’ve been having more headaches and foul moods in the last month than I could recall having in the past three decades.”

“I thought you wise to its ramifications. Did I fail to explain its function well enough after we first joined? I seem to recall going into the details no less than a dozen times.”

“And in each of those times, you presumed a base of understanding that I in truth lacked,” Raha said-- and then added, “as usual,” with an affectionate jab to Hades’ side as he came to a stop before the other.

Hades clicked his tongue at him, unimpressed. “Shall I apologize for having higher hopes for you? Connections such as the one we’ve maintained traditionally provide insights on the knowledge and experience held by both parties. For us, that evidently didn’t take.”

“Gods forbid we had. You reminisce enough for a creature thrice your considerably advanced age.”

“My _reminiscing_ is oft prompted by _your_ need to comb and catalogue history’s cyclic lessons, never mind that they are often tales you’ve already heard before.”

“So you might protest, but we both know you never tire of your voice.”

“Just as you never tire of questions, hm?” 

True.

That seemed like a fine time to demonstrate the truth. Raha closed his eyes, _reached--_ and found himself relaxing as the tiniest spot of sunlight spreading warmth through his chest. It was an emotion that belonged not to him, but felt right at home within his mind’s eye. Insomuch as he intellectually knew it should startle him to have his independence invaded (not by his blood’s heritage and not by a mechanical Tower infused with too much power, but a _sentient other_ ), at the same time, he couldn’t possibly imagine being without it. That would be so… lonely.

After he’d identified the link again, he opened his eyes.

Hades’ gaze had narrowed upon him. Despite his scrutiny, he clearly didn’t puzzle out Raha’s internal actions, as he said, “Lost in your own thoughts again? I believed us in the middle of a discussion, but it appears I was wrong. No, please, do share what has distracted you so this time. You look as if you’ve something incredibly profound to say.”

“If that’s what you expect, then I best make it good,” Raha murmured, his voice dropping unintentionally as the sunlight on his skin and in his chest grew and grew with Hades’ rising fondness. “Though I admit a lack of understanding prior to this moment, I have now rectified that shortcoming.”

“All on your own?”

“I know, very impressive.” Raha jabbed him again in the side, a half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “And what I have learned is: you could stand to say how you feel a bit more often.”

“ _Forthcoming_ has never been a problem for--”

“The positive parts, that is.” Raha braced himself upon the table, then hopped up to take a seat on its edge. There he kicked his legs idly, happily, yet buoyed by the affection so clearly in the air. Typically being certain of Hades’ kindness was a rarity, but this way, there was no room for doubt. It was a little heady to _know_ so immediately and vividly the makings of the other’s heart. “Much as I enjoy your challenging nature, I promise I will not think less of your biting remarks even if they’re transposed next to kindness.”

Ever looming with his body’s ridiculous height, Hades scrutinized him for a moment longer.

He dared not believe his ears, evidently. For all his complaining about mortals failing to meet his absurd expectations, he was awfully reluctant to accept when one had. The reason for said reluctance was understandable and sympathetic both, of course, but sometimes, Raha struggled not to take offense.

All at once, Hades rocked back onto his heels. His eyebrows furrowed. “Pardon my deviation from your callous call for change. Am I _disappointing_ you?”

Stilling his idle kicking, Raha frowned at him. “Not at all. What gave you that idea?” -- and then, after he thought about it for even a breath more, he felt chastised. Sitting straighter, he raised his hands to hastily wave away the other’s concerns, scrambling to correct: “Not _as such._ I simply-- I meant to say-- _plainly_ not--”

“‘Plainly,’ cries the spider to a fly, ‘I mean you no harm,’ even as she weaves a web in the dark.”

Raha flattened his gaze. “Hades. If I wished to hear poetry, I would seek out the minstrel. I’m _trying_ to tell you that I’ve-- I believe I’ve at last reached an understanding of what bridge we have built.” He paused. “Either that, or I’ve developed sudden and acute heartburn.”

Taken aback (for Raha did not bring up what he did not feel most certain about, and often also what he had rehearsed privately a dozen times, as the other knew), Hades paused. 

In that momentary stillness, Raha bolstered his courage and decided, for once, to act impulsively. Riding on the feeling of the other’s keen attention, he snagged Hades’ lapels and pulled him closer, allowing his legs to spread so that Hades might settle neatly between them. Even though his robes’ many layers, Hades quickly became a warm, solid weight. His tail curled up behind him, his ears flicking with poorly contained happiness. 

That unwaveringly fond sunlight in his chest was contagious, apparently. Raha didn’t fail to notice that it had continued to grow through their discussion.

“My clever little mortal,” Hades said, leaning lower that he might be closer. “It only took you close to three moons. I’m so proud.”

“Words better suited to sarcasm,” Raha replied, tilting his head up so that he spoke into the sharp underside of Hades’ jaw rather than his furred collar, “but now I can tell you mean exactly as you say.”

“Is it not better than relying on physicality alone?”

It was. But. “I prefer both, personally. They each have their advantages.”

“Mm. Perhaps.” 

Hades sett his hands flat against the table to Raha’s either side, ducking his head to nuzzle against Raha’s hair. Pleased inside and out, Raha wove his arms over the other’s shoulders, lacing his hands loosely behind his back. His ears flicked again, his tail twitching as well with restless enjoyment. 

Drawing back enough that their eyes could meet, the warmth in his chest grew and grew and _grew_. At last it burst, washing over and through Raha with a force that would have bowled him over, had he been standing. In it he recognized Hades’ sentiment as well as his own, caught and entangled and looping between them, rising without falling. Though it was overwhelming, it overwhelmed him _exquisitely_ , submerging him within a pool of adoration. 

As if from a distance, he heard himself gasp. Hades’ eyes lidded, taunting him with a lazy smirk for all of a _second_ before his lips parted and he swayed forward, resting his forehead against Raha’s. Heart pounding in his ears, Raha’s fingers tightened convulsively where he had them laced behind Hades’ back.

Not once did they break eye contact.

“How’s that for ‘forthcoming,’” Hades asked, voice husking low and deep from his throat.

Pompous _ass._

The closeness-- the awareness- the complete, utter certainty with which he knew Hades’ affection for him, here and now and thus for all the time that presently mattered. In an immortal's perspective, every moment might as well have been an eternity. This, Raha at last comprehended, swept so in the happiness that he could find no desire to fight joy's unrelenting tide.

Loathe though he was to break eye contact, Raha couldn’t help how his breath caught and his eyelids fluttered shut.

He felt Hades’ lips brush his, soft and chaste. The affection -- his and his, _theirs_ \-- crested within his chest, bursting against his ribcage and suffusing light throughout his entire body. It fell just shy of painful, especially as the high held far longer than any other build and release that Raha had felt. 

A sigh, a stuttering exhale, some noise of tension and relief and-- he shuddered all over, burying his face into the join between his arm and Hades’ neck, his _everything_ physical suddenly too heavy and too restrictive and far, far too small for how big they both felt.

Hades cupped the back of his head, threading his fingers through the thick hairs before his braid began. He scratched absently at his scalp, his touch cool to Raha’s abruptly overheated skin. Raha meant to say a real sentence, but his tongue refused to cooperate, so stuck was he yet in his own mind’s too-large emotions -- and so what he managed was a vague noise of vaguely distressed inquiry, his thoughts shattered and sluggish. 

In a surprisingly easy and kind answer, Hades said, “You’ve done well. So, so well. It was a lesson you survived, and so a lesson you’ve learned: a union in mind and soul, left unchecked, can create quite the potent feedback loop.”

That was putting what they’d just experienced very lightly. Raha grunted an acknowledgement, silently willing Hades to continue.

Mercifully, he did. “Although that particular amount was but the average shared between committed partners during any quiet, private moment--- well, never mind that. I fear we shared too much at once, and too much of the same thing, at that. Thus the overwhelming wave and your resulting exhaustion.”

“Ha,” Raha agreed. Yes, he was very exhausted. He would prefer not to move for a week or so, if possible. Funny. This was likely one of the first times he had felt so, and _not_ needed to immediately fix a horrendous aftermath. Typically such exhaustion had involved an incorrectly summoned person with a thousand and one well-deserved questions…

“Shall we retire?” Hades asked him, a hint of affectionate amusement threading through his voice. 

An echo drifted along their connection. Though Raha knew it to be less than what they had just shared, it _burned_ where it brushed. Their connection had been pushed to its limits and turned raw, which-- 

Hades hushed him, the hand not in his hair curling around the small of his back and nudging him closer into his heat. “Our connection is merely taxed for the time being. It will heal before long, and likely stronger than before.” He then decided for the both of them, “We shall retire. I’ll make you some of that disgusting tea that you so enjoy.”

As if he didn’t enjoy it too, just as long as Raha was the only one with the cup and he would steal sips…!

\-- Oh, but that was an argument for when his skull didn’t feel stuffed full of cotton. Raha rumbled his assent, unwilling to do more than drop his arms (an Allagan-sized task as it was) to drape around his waist instead of his shoulders. For once, he was content to let Hades handle the teleporting and the fussing. As it was, from his tail to his toes, he felt far too heavy to move another muscle.

Hades had to be more pleased and satisfied than he’d let on, as he didn’t even complain about carrying Raha to his bed. A quick check on their overwrought link and-- _ouch_ \- yes, he most certainly was.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! find me on twitter at [peltyfluff.](https://twitter.com/peltyfluff)


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